Welcome to ME High
by Enchanted Authoress
Summary: It's a new semester at Middle-earth High School! Aragorn is the valedictorian, Frodo is the exchange student, Legolas is the captain of the archery team...and Saruman is the vice principal? Discover what happens when Saruman and Sauron plot a dark scheme to buldoze ME High, and how the "Fellowship" stop them. Aragorn/Arwen, Éowyn/Faramir, Éomer/Lothíriel, Pippin/Diamond, etc.
1. Chapter 1: Back to School

**_Last edited: September 27th, 2012_**

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**A/N:** ME High stands for Middle-earth High School.  
Oh, and this chapter is very, very, and I repeat, very short. The rest of the chapters in my story are alll AT LEAST 3,000 words, and for some inexplicable reason my later chapters are longer than the earlier ones. Anyone care to explain this unnatural phenomenon? :P

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**(A friend and reader of mine asked me, after I completed Chapter I, to write a course schedule for Aragorn and Legolas. So I posted this, in case anyone else was curious. This will be the first and last time I will be posting the student/teacher list in the beginning of a chapter, unless one of my readers requests me to do otherwise. I believe that this takes up unnecessary word count and time...which is why I had to spend my weekend poring over my laptop *facepalms*)**

Seniors: Elladan, Elrohir, Haldir, Rúmil, Orophin  
Juniors: Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Arwen, Halbarad, Amrothros, Frodo  
Sophomores: Boromir, Éomer, Lothíriel, Elfhelm, Húrin, Sam, Gollum  
Freshmen: Faramir, Éowyn, Wormtongue, Beregond, Merry, Pippin

Saruman – Literature  
Galadriel – Psychology  
Celeborn – History I  
Glóin – History II  
Elrond – Health  
Thranduil – Biology  
Círdan – Drama  
Gandalf – Chemistry  
Imrahil – Physics  
Denethor – Calculus  
Erestor – Language I (Sindarin)  
" – Language II (Optional)  
Treebeard – Government  
Théoden – Physical Education  
Glorfindel – Assistant P.E.  
Tom Bombadil – Music  
Lindir - Assistant Music  
Bombur – Arts & Crafts

* There has been no principal at ME High since Gil-galad retired to his home in Valinor.

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**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, *coughdammitcough* I do not own _The Lord of the Rings._

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**Welcome to Middle-earth High  
Chapter I: Back to School**

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Aragorn was running.

He raced over barren fields and grassy plains, gasping for breath, his limbs burning. He was sweating profusely despite it being relatively early in the morning, courtesy of the glaring sun; here Aragorn resisted the urge to shake his fist at the blinking, cerulean, and cloudless sky. Instead he continued to pump his legs as he turned onto a well-worn dirt road. He stumbled before skidding to an abrupt stop.

Aragorn coughed heavily. His lungs were on fire; his legs felt as though they had been dipped in the flames of Mt. Doom and left to dry on the highest peak of Ered Luin. _Maybe I sh__ould give up?_ he thought, hesitating. Perhaps he should…. He was so tired, now….

But before Aragorn could decide, a blurry shape hurtled out from the undergrowth and tackled him to the ground. Caught off guard, Aragorn struggled, attemptingto throw his attacker off balance. _No use,_ he thought as he felt the strength sap from his body. _No use…. It was all over…. _He gritted his teeth together and closed his eyes in surrender.

And then:

"Gotcha!"

Aragorn felt the weight leave his torso as his attacker clambered off his prone form. Morning sunlight shone through the thick canopy of trees, lighting long, silky locks of golden hair into yellow fire.

"I hate you, Legolas," Aragorn intoned, opening his eyes and frowning.

"Legolas" answered Aragorn with a frown of his own. "'Hate' is a strong word, Estel," he said, wagging his finger at his friend in mock chastisement. "Now get up. We have a long day ahead of us, and the teachers will...er...in lack of a better word, _murder_ us if we do not arrive on time." He winced slightly. "And you know who we have for teachers..."

Aragorn sighed without conviction. "I most certainly don't remember agreeing to race you to school. And for the Valar's sake, Thranduilion," he snapped, "stop calling me by that ridiculous name!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow before bending down and proffering an arm to Aragorn to help him up from the ground.

"I'd rather be locked in an aquarium with a school of hungry sharks than be here," Aragorn muttered to himself as he dusted off his breeches.

Legolas smirked. "You don't mean that," he said innocently as he walked away from the tiny clearing. Aragorn sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day before trailing behind the elf, thinking of another million places he would rather have been at the moment. But with a minuscule twinge of guilt, Aragorn realized that he felt a little pleased at this brief interaction; he had missed bickering with his old friend.

The duo continued to part their way through the dense undergrowth. Aragorn gave the scenery around him a cursery glance, barely paying any attention to which path they were taking, which was what most likely led to him colliding with Legolas when they came to a sudden halt.

"We're here!"

Aragorn lifted his gaze at Legolas's jovial voice, nursing his bruised nose. A marble building loomed over them with thick ivy trailing down its walls. A banner covered in corny sayings and smiley faces hung over the entrance. Students—elves, men, and dwarves alike—pushed past the doors, chattering excitedly and comparing summer tans. A carriage, pulled by a team of magnificent horses and painted entirely canary-yellow, drew up by the doors, releasing two dozen more students into the bustling crowd. Screeches of hellos greeted the new arrivals as they too were swept into the massive throng of students.

Legolas grinned and poked Aragorn in the ribs.

School was in session.

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Gandalf rubbed his temples as he tapped his fingers on the single window in the teachers' lounge. His gaze swept over the students pouring into the school doors to the banner hanging above them, which flapped feebly in the autumn breeze. Even at this distance, he could discern many older students sniggering at the banner (the younger ones being too excited to care). The wizened Chemistry professor pursed his lips together in one hard line before pivoting his attention back to the wheezy coffee machine.

Putting up the banner had _not _been Gandalf's idea. He had openly disagreed when they had put the issue to a vote in a pre-term teacher assembly, as had many others, including Radagast the Brown and Elrond Half-elven. A welcome banner was something for children, they had believed. Not something for sixteen-year-olds!

Despite the majority's disagreement, however, the vice principal had gotten his own way yet again. Yesterday, Gandalf had been forced to watch as Saruman—the vice principal himself—had hung the banner over the school with some help from his Orc secretaries, all the while smiling smugly in his direction. And truth to be told, Gandalf's blood had boiled at Saruman's domineering attitude. He would have murdered the VP right there and then, had it not been for Elrond's hand resting gently but firmly on his shoulder.

Gandalf shivered at the awful memory as he stirred his cup of double-shot espresso. Careful not to get any of his beard covered in the sticky liquid, he drained the entire cup, relaxing as the caffeine entered his system. He sighed in relief. Much better.

The door to the teachers' lounge burst open.

Startled, Gandalf tore his eyes from his coffee and stared at the newcomer. His curious glance quickly transformed to that of distaste as he spat three words from his mouth:

"Good morning, Saruman."

"Good morning, Gandalf," returned the vice principal, his white beard shifting ever so slightly as he attempted to smile. "It is good to see you again, my friend."

Gandalf narrowed his eyes. "Friend," he muttered. "I like that term."

Saruman curled his lips.

The door to the teachers' lounge burst open yet again a few seconds later, only this time it was an Elf, not a Maia, who entered the room. Elrond was halfway to his desk before he noticed the two wizards glaring at each other. Quickly realizing what was happening, Elrond glided to Gandalf's side and tapped the wizard's shoulder, anxiety settling in his eyes.

"Come, Mithrandir," Elrond murmured in Sindarin. "The freshmen's orientation starts in fifteen minutes, and Galdariel insists on your being present."

Gandalf nodded tersely, not taking his eyes off Saruman. There was no way in Arda that_ he_ going to be the one to give up this staring contest.

And to Gandalf's delight, his wishes came true. After a few more seconds of intense glaring, Saruman withdrew his gaze, before throwing back his head and laughing heartily. "Classes, hmm?" he said, chuckling. "You'll have to excuse me, then; I must prepare for my first class. Seniors, you know."

A cold silence greeted his words.

Saruman left the lounge in a hurry, the door shutting with a loud bang behind his retreating form. Gandalf observed the vice principal walk down the hall, his white robes flying out behind him. "Move it!" Saruman barked at a sophomore who had been blocking his way. The startled student jumped about three leagues into the air before he hastily removed himself from Saruman's rampage. The dreaded vice principal continue his morning march until he finally disappeared over the marble staircase, losing himself from Gandalf's and Elrond's wary eyes.

Elrond turned to Gandalf. "Care to explain yourself?" asked the Elf lord, raising his eyebrows.

Gandalf nodded.

This was going to be a very bad day.

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**A/N:** Please review! Kindly let me know your thoughts on my story by review/PM. I'd love to hear if there's anything wrong that I'm doing. Feedback is always very much appreciated :D

**~Enchanted Authoress**


	2. Chapter 2: Many Meetings

**_Last edited: September 27th, 2012_**

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**A/N: **Thank you all so much for your reviews :) Here's a much longer chapter for my lovely readers, which is almost double the length of the first one. And I'm posting this a day earlier than I planned...good, hmm? I hope it was worth the wait. (If anyone was waiting in the first place, that is...)

And thanks to my friend fritillary252 for suggesting I add on a teacher + student list before each chapter. IOU one Fritz ;)

If any of you can think of extra subjects and teachers for Middle-earth High School, please leave a review. I'm not in high school yet, so I don't know which subjects I should include—or not—in this story.

And finally, much thanks to Lyrical Ballads, who provided me with the idea of having Tom Bombadil teach Music. Thank you!

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**Anonymous reviews:**

Falca : Hehe, thanks! I was originally just going to have Elrohir and Elladan as graduates of ME High, but I've put them in as seniors for all the twin fans out there. (I love 'em, too, by the way.) Thanks!

Eraisuithiel: Thank you! And no, I do not write slash...I'm a little too young for that, I think XD

Gwaeros: Thank you! I didn't know whether people would like this or not, and I'm glad you think it's well-written. Thanks again!

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**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own _The Lord of the Rings._

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**Welcome to Middle-earth High  
Chapter II: Many Meetings**

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Struggling down the hallway after two raven-haired Elves, Aragorn found himself resisting the urge to groan in frustration. It was barely 8 o'clock in the morning and he was frankly quite exhausted. The Valar knew what the rest of the school day would do to him.

"Hurry up, Estel," called one of the Elves Aragorn was following. His fair voice was barely audible over the rumbling of the crowd. "You'll get lost if you don't keep up with us."

"I'm _coming,_" Aragorn replied wearily. "You know, Elladan, you wouldn't be so fast either if you were weighed down with a dozen heavy textbooks."

He thought he saw Elladan—the elder of the Peredhil twins—chuckle, but before he could ascertain, the Elf had turned aside to converse with his brother.

It had not been one of Aragorn's best days in life when Elladan and Elrohir had declared that they would honor him with a thorough tour of the school facilities, so that their favorite (and only) adoptive brother would be able to socialize more easily with the other juniors, who were most likely to have forgotten his existence after his two-year absence. Oh, Aragorn had appreciated their sentiment in the beginning, of course; five minutes into the "tour," however, his opinion had changed rather drastically. So far, after chasing Legolas away the moment the elf and Aragorn had crossed over the school doors, the twins had left their human brother in the dust as they explored the myriad passages throughout the school. Elladan and Elrohir weren't _that _diabolical to be doing this intentionally, Aragorn knew (or were they?), but it seemed to him that the twins were far too excited at the moment to pay any proper attention to a certain grouchy junior. Therefore Aragorn had purposely lagged behind when the trio had begun nearing the senior student wing, a.k.a. the Territory Where No Junior Ever Dare Lay Foot On._  
_  
Muttering curses he had not realized he had even known before, Aragorn inadvertently pushed past a group of giggling ellith ("Oh, it's you, Estel! Have a good time at that exchange school up North?"). Finding his pathway clear, Aragorn shifted his book bag, wincing when a textbook bumped against his hipbone. The new books were extremely heavy, and they also happened to be hardbound. _I wonder why they print these things in the first place_, thought Aragorn, _instead of soft and nice paperbacks._

He rounded a corner, picking up his pace—and then collided into something big.

_And hard_, thought Aragorn, his head ringing from the collision. _Big and hard. _

"Ow!" cried the "something". "Watch where you're going, won't you?"

Thrown off balance by his weighty books, Aragorn had landed bottom-first on the floor. He rose, rubbing his backside and endeavoring to hide the tic in his jaw. A none-too-small crowd had already begun to encompass the scene of the accident, and he definitely did not want to make a fool out of himself. _Control yourself, Aragorn, _he thought, inhaling deeply. _You haven't been yourself since your exchange trip…. Calm, now._

"I'm sorry," Aragorn began in his Travel-Weary Ranger Voice™, especially reserved for cases like this one. "I was in a hurry, and I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?"

The stranger, apparently baffled by Aragorn's polite stance and his apology, nodded. "_I _am," he said. "But are _you_?"

He gesticulated at the space around Aragorn's feet. Aragorn peered down and, to his immense dismay, found the hallway floor littered with the remains of his book bag and his textbooks. The books, upon falling to the ground, had caught on the light material of the bag and had ripped the seams off it. The books being hardbound had done nothing to alleviate the problem. "Oh, Elbereth," Aragorn muttered. He bent down to pick up his books—and saw a hand holding out his Calculus book in his direction.

"Here," said the other student. "I suppose it's my fault your bag ripped like that. I should have looked where I was going, too. My apologies."

Aragorn inwardly smiled. _What a few nice words and a polite attitude can bring you... I'll have to thank Ada and Erestor for these lessons, I know._

The two silently picked up the remainder of Aragorn's books. As the boy handed Aragorn the last of his textbooks, Aragorn opened his mouth to express his thanks, but was interrupted before he could say a word.

"I'll carry some of this for you," said the other teen. They began to walk together. "Say, you're new here, aren't you? I haven't seen you around here before."

It was Aragorn's turn to be baffled. "Er…. Sort of," he answered. "I was here for a month of my freshman year, and then I was up North as an exchange student for the rest. I don't really know most of the freshmen or the sophomores," he added, noticing two girls staring at him from across the hallway. (He self-consciously tugged at his battered cloak.) "And I wasn't exactly famous here before, either."

This elicited a response from the other boy, whose face fell not in contempt or malice but in sincere compassion. "That must be hard," he said. "I bet it feels strange to be back here."

The two boys rounded a corner. "Yeah," Aragorn agreed, adjusting his arms so that his books were in a less precarious position. "I guess."

They stopped at a door. "This is my class," Aragorn said gratefully. "Thanks for all the help."

The boy grinned. "No problem," he said cheerfully, handing back Aragorn his books. "It was my pleasure."

Aragorn opened the door to the classroom, and instantly relief washed over him. There at the back of the classroom sat Halbarad, his close friend and fellow Ranger from the local tracking club. Across from him sat Legolas, who was scribbling something on a loose sheet of paper. _Finally, _he thought, his lips lifting into a smile. _People I know._

He took a few steps forward to set his books down at a nearby desk, and then turned back. He stepped back into the hallway. "Hey!" he called at the retreating figure of the boy who had helped him. "What's your name?"

The boy stopped at the sound of Aragorn's voice. "Boromir," he called back, grinning again. "Call me Boromir."

* * *

Boromir was in a good mood. He whistled as he walked down the stairs to his first class, hurrying slightly. He had been a little detained when he had offered to help the new—no, not exactly new—student with his books, but then again, it had been his fault that the accident had even occurred in the first place.

He made it to class barely on time. The professor was already in the classroom; Thranduil shot Boromir a murderous glare as the sophomore sat down at random seat, pulling out his Biology textbook from under his cloak.

"Everyone," Thranduil began, "welcome to Biology."

General groaning.

"Now," the professor continued, gliding to the center of the classroom. Thranduil picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a single word on the board. _Spiders_, Boromir read with a sinking feeling in his guts.

More groaning.

"Can anybody tell me where the vital point of the spider is?"

A few rows from Boromir's desk, a hand shot up into the air.

"Yes, Miss…?"

"Lothíriel," the girl who had raised her hand answered promptly. "The location of the vital point of spiders differs from species to species. As for the Mirkwood Giants, it is best to behead them first for the hunter to avoid major injuries, although their legs are equally promising targets as well…"

The girl droned on and on, until the only words Boromir was able to understand was the _and_s and _the_s. _Thranduil seems very pleased, _he noted, taking a sideway glance at the beaming teacher.

He couldn't believe this girl was his cousin.

"That is correct," Thranduil said when the said girl had finished. "Very good, Miss Lothíriel. Now, moving on with the lesson…"

Boromir quickly lost interest in the subject, and he stared up at the ceiling aimlessly. It had been a mistake to take Biology instead of Chemistry or Physics; he knew that _Gandalf_ taught Chemistry, and there was no doubt that_ that _class would have been fun. _Exploding labs and dragon fireworks,_ Boromir thought wistfully as he chewed on the end of his quill pen. _What is it with Thranduil and the spiders, anyway?_

"Show-off," someone muttered belligerently.

Boromir jumped, before he realized that the comment had not been directed at him.

"That Lothíriel thinks she knows everything," the voice groaned. "Bragger."

"Professor Imrahil seems nice enough," a second voice retorted. "I saw him yesterday when I went up to Dol Amroth, and he offered me a ride home in his Mercedes-horse. Real nice, if you ask me."

"Still," the first voice grumbled. Boromir recognized its owner as Éomer of Rohan, whose name and face he knew but wasn't closely acquainted with; Boromir spent most of his free time with his friends from the Gondor part of town. "It's fine answering a teacher's question, but did she have to talk for a full five minutes like that?"

Boromir wasn't surprised when a minute later, Lothíriel turned in her chair. The girl was pretty if not beautiful, with dark silky hair and intense eyes, but she was anything but when she started to glare daggers at Éomer and his friend, mouthing words that Boromir thought weren't very appropriate for the daughter of a high school teacher.

Boromir snuck a furtive look at the clock. There was still thirty-five minutes left until class ended. _Ugh, _he bemoaned, burying his head in his arms.

The lecture continued.

* * *

Boromir rocketed out from his seat when the bell rang. He snatched up his textbook in one hand and his empty notes in the other; though Boromir had intelligence "well above average," as his father always said, he had never liked studying. The only person he knew who actually_ liked _studying was his brother Faramir.

Speaking of whom….

Boromir turned against the tide of students, hurrying down the stairs to the first landing. All the freshmen's classes were on the second floor, but since the orientation would have just finished, he would have to go to the auditorium to see his brother. _Faramir_, he thought frantically, craning his neck for a better view. He had to find his brother. _Where's Faramir?_

At last, he spotted a familiar face among the gallivanting freshmen. Boromir weaved through the throng of students, muttering _Excuse me_s and _Pardon_s as he went.

It took him a while to reach his brother, but Boromir was soon able to clamp his hand down on Faramir's shoulder.

"Gotcha!" Boromir laughed when the younger boy jumped into the air, surprised.

"Hey," Faramir greeted. He grinned, and his glasses slipped slightly from his nose. "How was class?"

Boromir raised one hand up to his forehead in a dramatic flourish. "Horrible," he said, pretending to faint from horror. "Thranduil didn't even give us an orientation. It was just class, class, and class. So," he asked back, "How was _your _orientation?"

Faramir's eyes lit up in excitement. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, and the glasses slipped down further on his nose.

Boromir couldn't stop smiling at his sibling's zealousness.

"The principal wasn't there, like you said he wouldn't be, Boromir," Faramir continued. "But most of the teachers were present. I saw Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel—"

Boromir gaped. "Galadriel?" The Golden Lady, called so because of her lustrous golden hair and canary Porsche-horse, was famous among all students. She taught Psychology for the seniors and the advanced-class juniors, so naturally only the Elves could attend her lectures. The rumors about her were intoxicating among the younger students. "Really?"

Faramir nodded. "Really," he answered. "I don't know why she was there. They're saying that she'll stop teaching once this year's seniors have graduated." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But it was weird having her there."

"How?" asked Boromir, intrigued.

"It was as if she was looking right through me. Like she was reading my mind, you know? But that's impossible," Faramir said, laughing. "That's just a story the sophs invented."

_Huh, _thought Boromir, inclining his head.

"Anyway." Faramir was suddenly serious. "Boromir, why are you here?"

Boromir blinked bemusedly. "Umm…to check up on you," he replied, but the note of uncertainty made his statement sound more like a question.

He and Faramir were on better terms than most siblings. The bond between them had only strengthened when their father, Denethor, had begun favoring Boromir over Faramir after the death of Finduilas, his wife. Boromir had at first begun to "baby-sit" Faramir out of a sense of duty, and of brotherly love; that emotion had changed into something entirely different over the years, though. Now, the two brothers were the best of friends, and there was no secret that they couldn't tell each other. _The best of friends,_ Boromir thought distractedly, remembering something one of his school friends had told him earlier in the year._ How do you two keep it up, when you live under the same roof? _

At last, Boromir shrugged. "That's what brothers do," he said, wondering why Faramir had asked that question when he would have known the answer to it already.

"Yeah, yeah," Faramir said, rolling his eyes, rewarding his brother with a light punch on the shoulder. And then he was serious again. But this time, there was something else in his voice besides the normal inquisitiveness. Boromir detected desperation when Faramir asked him: "It wasn't Father who told you to do it, was it?"

Boromir caught his breath.

Faramir waited.

_I should have known it would lead to this._

"No," Boromir mumbled, looking not quite at Faramir but at a poster on the wall. _Looking for new members on the basketball team_, it read. _Tryouts this Friday at 5PM. Cool, _he thought, biting down on his bottom lip. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. "Look, Faramir," he said, unconsciously slipping into the brotherly tone he only ever used with his younger sibling. "We both know Father favors me—"

Faramir sighed. "I was just asking," he intoned. "Bro, we can talk about it more at home."

"But I—"

"You'll miss your next class," Faramir pointed out.

As if to emphasize his point, the bell rang.

"Mordor!" Boromir spat, pushing through the crowd and racing up the stairs. "I'll see you later," he called over his shoulder. "You can take care of yourself for a few hours, right?"

"Right," Faramir yelled back. "Thanks for coming to see me, anyway...You're the best!" he added, earning curious glances from the dispersing crowd of freshmen.

Boromir turned around to catch one last glimpse of his brother. Faramir stood alone in front of the auditorium; when the younger boy saw Boromir looking at him, he raised his hands and gave Boromir a double thumbs-up, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.

When would their father see how delusional he was about Faramir? Faramir was just a _boy_, for crying out loud; he loved to learn, he loved to read, and he respected Denethor more than anyone. Boromir was doing the best he could, protecting and helping his younger brother even after Faramir had entered his teens; how longer could this go on, though? How much more could Faramir take, with the years of his childhood starved from the love of a parent? How much more?

With a cold, sinking feeling in his heart, Boromir ran down the empty hallway.

* * *

The rumors started in third period.

"Did you hear?" whispered a girl.

_Ooh,_ thought Boromir leaning forward in his chair, careful not to be too obvious in his rubbernecking. _Juicy gossip._

"No," her neighbor whispered back. "What is it?"_  
_  
"They're saying that a new junior is here today."

"So?"

Boromir leaned in closer. The whispers had become lower when Théoden had turned back from the blackboard to face the class, having finished drawing his diagram. The professor gestured toward the board, talking about how the grades were given and the various outdoors activities they would do throughout the year.

"I'm not really sure," the girl whispered. "But I heard some of the Elves talking when I was walking by the lockers, and I think they said his name is Aragorn."

A pause. "Aragorn?" asked the other girl. "Does that mean something?"

"Yeah. I think his great-grandfather or somebody was famous—you know those stone busts at the front of the school?"

"You mean that Most Contributed to School's History group?"

"Ugh, tell me about it. I've looked at those statues at least a hundred times, and the teachers are always hammering in our ears about how important they are."

Boromir absentmindedly nodded to himself.

"Anyway," continued the girl. "I think this junior's related to one of them."

"Whoa."

Pause.

"You know, most of those busts were modeled after very handsome guys…"

There was a short burst of giggles between the girls.

"Please quiet down, you ladies there," ordered Théoden. The teacher frowned. "There are other students in this class besides you two."

The two girls mumbled their apologies to Théoden.

A silence filled the room. Most of the other sophomores were still awake; Théoden was a good teacher, and he taught a good subject, Physical Education. The promises and bribes for an exciting gym lesson were working very well on this particular class. Guiltily, Boromir opened his clean notebook and started jotting down notes with a freshly sharpened quill pen.

_A new junior, huh?_ Boromir thought. _With blue blood? Sounds interesting. _

It would be a while before he realized that he had not asked the junior in the hallway what his name was.

* * *

"Hey, Frodo," called a muffled voice, "Are you done packing yet?"

Frodo Baggins of the Shire sighed. "Almost," he called back, fingers fumbling with the locks on his first trunk. The rest of his baggage lay piled together in a heap beside his old writing desk. "Is Sam there, Merry?"

"I'm right here, Mr. Frodo!" a second voice—also sounding uncharacteristically muffled through the thick wooden door—answered.

"I'm here, too." It was Pippin. "Say, Frodo, I think it's going to rain, and if we don't hurry soon we'll miss the carriage and we'll be in big trouble. We should have headed out fifteen minutes ago."

Frodo stood up. "All right," he finally said, dusting his hands and giving a last, fond look at his dorm room in Hobbiton High School. "I'm coming."

He would not be coming back home for a long, long time.

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**A/N:** Please review! I'm still a novice writer, and I'd love to hear if there's anything wrong I'm doing. Kindly let me know by either PM or review!

**~Enchanted Authoress**


	3. Chapter 3: Various Complications

**_Last edited: September 27th, 2012_**

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**A/N:** Ugh, thank the gods that summer is here…otherwise I would've NEVER have been able to update.

Anyway, as some of my lovely readers might have noticed, this chapter is also much longer than the first one. I don't know how it happened; I just kept on writing and writing, and it took me only one day to write this all down, despite my immense load of homework! Whoooo!

Um, okay, so maybe the extra wording is due to my long Author's Note. Does anybody read this at all, even? Because I sure do, and I've noticed how often authors ask this question in their A/Ns.

Again, if any of you can think of extra subjects and teachers for Middle-earth High School, please leave a review. I'm not in high school yet, so I don't know which subjects I should include—or not—in this story. Thanks!

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**Anonymous reviews:**

Gwaeros: Thank you again! Thranduil and the spiders XD As for the updates, I wrote the second chapter in just two days, and the third in one, but it took me over a week to finish the first…Honestly, I don't know :L I'm trying to post one chapter per week, but…er…*shies away from the tomatoes*

anon: Yeah, I want to go to ME High, too…can't wait for Gandalf's class XD

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**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, *sighs* I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_. For now, that is.

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**Welcome to Middle-earth High  
Chapter III: Various Complications**

* * *

"Ugh," groaned Aragorn, stretching his limbs. "I'm drained."

Next to him, Legolas nodded. "So am I," he said, rising from his chair, which he accomplished with flawless grace despite his words, noted Aragorn with a hint of jealousy. He was going to become prejudiced, hanging out with perfect people all the time.

"Come on, Aragorn," Legolas said, tapping his friend's shoulder. "Let's go get some grub."

It was twelve o'clock and time for lunch. The other juniors in Aragorn and Legolas's class had long since scrambled out the doors and down the stairs to the cafeteria, leaving Imrahil's classroom littered with loose sheets of notebook paper that their owners had—in the momentary chaos created by the lunch bell—left behind on their desks. Aragorn snatched one such sheet from the floor and studied it. Instead of the Physics notes that should have been on it, the paper was covered with unspoken in-class conversations: who liked who, who didn't like who, who had a fight with whom, who was jealous of who.

Aragorn pocketed it.

"I'd be surprised if they even let us eat lunch in the cafeteria now," Aragorn commented as he sauntered out of the empty classroom with Legolas, leaving a sighing Imrahil in their wake.

The corners of Legolas's mouth twitched. "It's always the worst on the first day of school," he explained. "And this is nothing. You should see the sophomores," the elf said, chuckling. "It's a complete madhouse in their fourth-period classes, what with them counting down the seconds left until lunch from 11: 55. Ada said he wished he could just teach seniors like Lady Galadriel does, because the Men-children are _so _less civilized," he finished, shaking his head in mock sadness. "I actually feel sorry for him."

"Speaking of which," said Aragorn. "Don't you have Biology this afternoon?"

Legolas sighed. "Yeah," he said, scratching the nape of his neck. "I don't know what made me do it. Now I'm taking Physics _and _Biology"—he made a face—"I'll be lucky if I manage to survive the term."

Aragorn burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself; Legolas had an aura that somehow made him laugh even under the direst circumstances. His light mood was so…so…. _Infectious, _Aragorn finished in his head.

"Don't laugh," Legolas said in a somber, ominous tone, which only made Aragorn laugh even harder. "I heard from Haldir that the lesson is on spiders, for all the grades alike. And I already know everything about them there is to know!" Legolas moaned.

Aragorn gasped, pressing his hands to the side of his torso. Laughing too much had its own drawbacks. "But there's the annual field trip you can look forward to," he said, his voice still weak from laughter. "You'll get to go to Mirkwood and kill all those spiders—"

Legolas rubbed his forehead. "That's a good point," he agreed at last. "But it'll be more exciting with you there, Aragorn. Now tell me," he demanded, "why in Arda didn't you sign up for Biology?"

Aragorn ducked his head sheepishly. "Schedule conflict," he muttered, avoiding Legolas's scrutinizing gaze.

"Give me your schedule," Legolas ordered.

"No way, Greenleaf—"

"Too late!" Legolas had already snatched the loose sheet from one of Aragorn's textbooks, where the white page was fluttering in the air like a tiny flag of surrender. "This is why you shouldn't have insisted on carrying your books around," he crowed in victory. "Who reviews their lessons on the first day of school?"

Aragorn flushed. "Just because I want a scholarship to college doesn't mean that I—"

Legolas waved his hand, cutting Aragorn off. "Complain about studying _after _I check out your schedule," he said, his grey eyes scanning the paper. "Hmm, Monday, fifth period…"

Aragorn closed his eyes in horror.

But he could still hear the popping noise Legolas's jaw made when the elf finally found what he was looking for. "Estel," Legolas cried, unconsciously switching back to his childhood nickname for Aragorn, "You traded Biology for _Health_?"

Aragorn remained silent, plodding down the stairs one step at a time.

Legolas drifted after him, moaning and groaning like a ghoul clad in green. "Why? _Why?_" he implored. "You're already an expert healer, and if Lord Elrond taught the things you didn't know in class, everybody save you would drop Health, because they wouldn't get it." Legolas took a deep breath. "If you wanted to take Health that badly, you could just ask him for an after-school study session or whatever—"

Aragorn still said nothing.

"Oh," Legolas said, finally comprehending. "This isn't about Health at all, is it?"

Aragorn answered him with a tiny, nearly indecipherable shake of his head.

"Then what—"

But before Legolas could finish his question, a door slammed somewhere down the hallway, sending a gentle breeze wafting in the two juniors' direction. Aragorn took an involuntary whiff, and was immediately overcome with the scent of flowers and clean grass. _Uh-oh_, he thought, panicking. _Ellith were on the loose._

He was right. The next thing he heard was giggling—not normal giggling, but the high, bell-like, trilling laughs of the Elves. Yes, it was definitely ellith who were undoubtfully ascending the stairs, chattering among themselves, comparing summer tans from summer camps, and headed…right…at…him…

_Mordor!_ Aragorn thought, hyperventilating, his heart palpitating. He had to get away from here.

Legolas noticed his reaction, and reached out toward Aragorn with a worried frown. "Aragorn? What is it?"

"I—I have to go—"

Too late.

As Legolas nodded absentmindedly in the ellith's direction, and as the ellith nodded back, Aragorn's eyes settled on one particular elleth's form. This elf was different from the others of the group. It could have been anything: her ethereal, rich beauty, too magnificent for it to be of this earth's; her graceful, gliding walk, which somehow made all the other ellith seem clumsy and uncoordinated; her bright jewel eyes, shining knowingly behind long silky lashes.

She was so beautiful that it hurt just to look at her.

But Aragorn couldn't draw his eyes away. Maybe it was because something about her beauty was addictive, so that he couldn't stop looking to save his soul; maybe it was because there was something in her expression that marred her otherwise perfect features, and he wanted to find out what that was. Or maybe it was because…

…Arwen Undómiel had just turned around to look straight back at him.

It was only for a fleeting moment, but when her eyes met his, something passed between them. And Aragorn instantly knew, as a current of electricity shot through him, that his feelings for her—his feelings for the most beautiful maiden alive in Middle-earth, whom he had no chance of wooing—had only increased, not decreased, over the years of separation.

Something flashed in Arwen's eyes; whether it was recognition, scorn, or—could he even hope for it?—joy, Aragorn had no way of telling.

The group of Elves walked past Aragorn and Legolas, still giggling, and Aragorn felt a cool hand brush against his own. In a matter of seconds, the ellith were gone, and the only trace left of them was the delicate fragrance of fresh autumn flowers hanging in the air.

Aragorn tightened his fingers around the slip of paper Arwen had handed him.

"You okay?" Legolas asked him, concerned.

"No—I—I don't—"

Shock replaced concern as Legolas grasped the full impact those precious seconds had had on his friend.

"Aragorn," Legolas whispered. "You're still…."

Aragorn nodded.

* * *

Watching the two juniors disappear into the cafeteria, the tall raven-haired Elf shook his head. "Ada will be disappointed," he murmured to the ellon standing next to him, a duplicate of his own physique.

Elladan arched his eyebrows.

"I feel like a spy, hiding in the dark like this," Elrohir complained. He gestured to Elladan, and the Imladris twins stepped out into the hallway. "I love Ada and Arwen, but this means lying to Estel, and I don't like that." Elrohir frowned.

"You thought it would be better for them," Elladan pointed out quietly. "Arwen _and _Estel."

Elrohir sighed. "Not anymore," he said. "Estel loves her, and there's nothing us or Ada can do to change that fact. Did you see his face, when he looked at her?"

They were both silent for a while.

"I wonder," Elladan began hesitantly, "If Arwen will choose—"

"Do _not _finish that sentence," Elrohir snapped. "We have enough problems to ponder over for the day, haven't we, Elladan?"

"Fine," Elladan muttered. His voice took on a lighter tone, sounding only slightly strained as he told his brother, "Let's go to the archery range. Haldir is expecting us."

Elrohir nodded dully, allowing the elder Elf to lead him outdoors.

But Elladan could not stop himself from turning his head and looking back at the retreating figures of Aragorn and Legolas, who were by now in the cafeteria. _Whatever Arwen chooses,_ he thought, watching Legolas fruitlessly attempt to cheer Aragorn up, _It will hurt someone…maybe more than just one someone._

He followed his brother out into the sunshine.

* * *

Finding a place to eat at lunch was always the hardest ordeal on the average school day. _Especially,_ thought Gimli morosely as he picked up his tray, overladen with food, _When fifty percent of the students were Elves.  
_  
Normally, Gimli would have happily joined his dwarf pals at the center table in the cafeteria, where the dwarves would laugh and talk boisterously and curse every Elf that was within hearing distance of their conversations, which was every Elf who happened to be at lunch, no thanks to their superior hearing. But today was an exception. Most of the dwarves had had Arts and Crafts in fourth period, and Professor Bombur was taking them all to lunch in town. As for the Dwarves who had had no such luck with their schedules, they would have to fend for themselves, even if that meant sitting down next to an Elf for lunch. _Which will never happen, _Gimli thought, shuddering.

He scanned the sea of faces for an empty table. _No luck_, Gimli thought bitterly. Every table was occupied, even the "Dwarf table" in the very center of the cafeteria. It had been rash of him to assume that someone would have saved a seat for him, when most of his fellow Dwarves were now probably sitting inside Smaugco Bell, eating dragon-flavored tacos and listening to Bombur's tales. As for the other unlucky Dwarves, it seemed as if they had all chosen not to eat lunch rather than brave the crowd of Elves.

_Cowards,_ Gimli thought, taking a deep breath and bracing himself. _Well, here's to Dwarvish courage. _

Gripping the sides of his tray like they were his lifelines, Gimli began walking across the cafeteria hall with his chin up in the air, taking great care not to meet the curious gazes of the Men, or the venomous glares of the Elves; he knew that the very second he looked down, or up, as it was in this situation, he would flee from the place like a coward would from a battle. _Which was _not _going to happen_, he thought grimly, marching across the hall with increasing determination. _I'll show them, those prissy Elves.  
_  
In the end, it was determination that foiled his plan. Gimli was so concentrated on making it to the empty seat next to a frightened-looking freshman that he didn't see the banana peel someone had left on the floor.

Only when his left foot touched the peel did Gimli realize what he had gotten himself into. He had the oddest feeling, as if he had been lifted into the sky, and for one second, time stood still.

_Whoops_, Gimli thought, somersaulting in the air.

The landing was the worst thing that had ever happened during Gimli's yet brief existence on earth. His lunch reached the ground before he did; the metal tray crashed to the floor with an earsplitting bang and spun in circles over three yards on the floor, spraying food at the students sitting close to Gimli. _At least of them were Elves_, he noted, wallowing in what little he left of satisfaction. He, meanwhile, somehow managed to land head-first on the ground, in the middle of a large berry pie he had salvaged from the kitchen. There was a faint plopping noise as he felt his head sink in the soft dough, and his face was immediately covered with dark juice stains.

Gimli blinked the stars out of his eyes, and rose slowly from the floor.

There was a moment of eerie silence.

The Elves were the first ones to laugh. Of course. _How sanctimonious of them._ The sound may have been music to others' ears, but not to Gimli; his insides boiled with unquenchable fury at their laughter. _Those Elves,_ he thought, red spots dancing across his vision. _Those damn Elves, damn them to the pit of Mordor where they belong, damn them, damn them, damn them—_

A flash of gold lit up his peripheral vision, and Gimli's eyes settled on a lithe elf dressed in green and brown garments, with light slippers for his shoes. He was not even pretending to muffle his laughter; how typical of him. _Because it's a Mirkwood Elf,_ he thought, _The very worst of its kind. _He had heard the entire nursery tale from his father Glóin, of course, and his father never lied; how Thranduil the Fifth had imprisoned the noble band of dwarves in his dank dungeons , and how he had almost ruined Thorin Oakenshield's quest. Yes, the Mirkwood Elves were the foulest of the Elves. They didn't even deserve to be called "he" or "she": each was only "it" in Gimli's furious mind, nothing more.

In retaliation, he raised his head and glared at the Elf.

The Elf must have felt Gimli glaring at him, for the mirth suddenly disappeared from his eyes, and he turned to gaze at Gimli. The gaze then solidified into a stare, and then solidified even further into a glare. Gimli, feeling that he couldn't be outdone, glared back.

The glaring match continued for some seconds, but it was broken off when a dark, ragged Man sitting next to the Elf stepped in between Gimli and the "it." _Get out of my sight,_ Gimli desperately wanted to shout. Instead, he watched silently while blood pounded in his year as the Elf was led away from the cafeteria by his friend. The Man looked back at Gimli and mouthed the words _so sorry. _Who was this boy?

All the way through Gimli and the Elf's little exchange, the students in the cafeteria had been laughing away. They still laughed as Gimli ran—no, not ran, but purposefully retreated_—_from the cafeteria, wiping the food off his hair and face as he went.

Someday, somewhere, even if he didn't know how, he was going to get back at that Elf.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Merry gasped. "He's not here?"

The attendant shook his head. "No, sirs," he said, eyes darting nervously between the four stunned hobbits. _As if we might hit him_, Frodo thought distractedly, his mind preoccupied with other matters. It wasn't much of a surprise; the manager, a Mr. Butterbur, had seemed okay so far, but the behavior of the other guests at Pony Inn left much to be desired.

"But he was supposed to meet us here!" Pippin cried, flailing his arms. "Are you sure? Check again, check again!"

The attendant lowered his eyes. "But he really isn't here, sir," Rob—Frodo _thought _it was Rob, but he thought it wise not to ask, the boy seemed too nervous to be answering questions now—"a Mr. Grey checked in some days ago, but he left before you folks came."

Merry groaned. Pippin yelped.

Sam was the only one among Frodo's three companions who seemed not to be mentally depressed. "Well, at least he was here," he said cheerfully. "That means he knows we were supposed to come here, right?"

"It's not our fault we got delayed," Pippin said, instantly defensive, "Farmer Maggot—"

"To the Sackville-Bagginses with Farmer Maggot," Frodo said emphatically. (He felt free to criticize his unfriendly relatives, now that he was out of the Shire.) "How much does a room cost per night here?" he asked the attendant.

Rob (Frodo had decided at last that his name was Rob) told Frodo the price in a stammering voice.

The hobbit opened his wallet, peered at its contents, did the math again in his head just to be sure, and sighed. "Well, I suppose we'll all have to share a room," said Frodo, pulling out some coins and pushing them over the countertop to Rob's waiting hands. "I think a week is more than enough, and a room would more than accommodate all four of us—"

"Wait a minute," said Merry, his eyes rounding in realization. "We're staying here?"

Frodo nodded.

Shouting erupted. Merry was yelling something; Pippin was yelling back; Sam was telling them to be quiet, his statement made hypocritical by the fact that he was yelling as well. Frodo covered his ears.

"STOP IT, ALL OF YOU!"

The three hobbits stopped yelling, and turned to stare in amazement at Frodo.

"I didn't mean to do that," Frodo mumbled, flushing red to the roots of his curly hair. "Anyway, this is only temporary. We're not staying here for longer than a week (I haven't got enough money for it anyway), and if nobody from the school comes until then, we're all going back to Hobbiton High and mailing a complaint letter. Understood?"

"Understood," the three hobbits echoed, Sam tagging a "Mr. Frodo" onto the end of the word.

Frodo sighed. "Right," he said, picking up two of his trunks. "Let's go get settled in."

* * *

**A/N:** Please review! I love to hear from my readers, whether it's praise or concrit I care not :D  
**  
~Enchanted Authoress**


	4. Chapter 4: The Quester

**_Last edited: November 20th, 2012_**

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update! For some reason, this chapter was rather difficult to write...I mean, I knew what I wanted to do with it, but somehow my brain got stuck between the first paragraph and the second paragraph :P

Did anyone notice that my 23rd review is signed in my own name? My benign mother, while she was trying to review my story, didn't see that I was still logged in and…yeah…this is what happened. I want to punch someone….or maybe I'm overreacting. Hm.

On a happier note, thanks to Gwaeros, Cee. A, thewhitespirit, Lyrical Ballads, and anon for reviewing ;) And also, much thanks to zuckerwuerfelchen for pointing out some awkward spots in the second chapter. I've gone back and edited the scene with Boromir and Faramir, so maybe you guys should check it out? :D And thanks to E4me100 and Smorelet4077 for suggesting some classes! Smorelet4077 gets an extra hug, because it was because of him/her that Gollum is here XD Wow, I can't believe I forgot about him! Thanks!

Again, if any of you could think of extra subjects and teachers for Middle-earth High School, please leave a review. I'm not in high school yet, so I don't know which subjects I should include—or not—in this story.

* * *

**Anonymous reviews:**

anon: Sure, why not? :D Sam and Rosie make a cute couple :3

* * *

**Notes on Middle-earth High and its unique education system:**

* Elves are only in the senior classes, with a few junior exceptions (e.g. Legolas and those unwilling to leave Arda). The Dwarves' grades range from sophomore to senior. Men are in the lower three grades; those like Aragorn or Halbarad, who have a special connection with the Elves, are juniors; "royalty" like Boromir and Éomer are sophomores; the younger Men (e.g. Faramir, Éowyn), or the "normal" ones (if you could call Grima normal) are freshmen.

* Not all of the students have been "graded" depending on their ages. For instance, Éowyn could be older than Lothíriel, but I would still install the latter girl as a sophomore, and Éowyn as a freshman; it depends on the role I want them to have in this story.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I STILL do not own_ The Lord of the Rings. _But it'll be my birthday in October, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed...

* * *

**Welcome to Middle-earth High  
Chapter IV: The Quester**

* * *

After the first day of school, Aragorn had been sure that the rest of his junior year would turn out to be one exciting walk in the park—a walk where there were killer pigeons, acid fountains, and carnivorous trees—but for once, his guess had turned out to be wrong. The next three days had passed by smoothly, with nothing strange or mortifying happening in school, save for a small explosion during Gandalf's A.P. Chemistry class.

_But that had been nothing,_ thought Aragorn_. Solved by just one call to the Arda Fire Department. The only thing that got burned was Gandalf's beard. End of problem._

He punched in his locker combination at lightning speed and let the door swing open of its own accord.

Aragorn leaned over and began rummaging through the organized stack of textbooks and notes. He felt unusually light and carefree today. His good mood surprised him a little, as there was nothing exciting about the double load of homework he would have to complete over the weekends. _It must be the Friday disease infecting me, _he guessed, checking his schedule. _It's Friday, it's Friday…._

Now where had he heard that song before?

He pulled out his Drama textbook from where it rested between his two Calculus workbooks. _Lord Círdan's class, _he thought, walking down the hallway with his book tucked under one arm. He had taken Legolas's teasing about the extra textbooks weighing him down to heart, and now he took especial care to carry only one book with him at a time, if it could be managed.

Which reminded him: he still owed an explanation to Legolas about his "schedule conflict"….

"Hey, Longshanks!"

_Speak of the Devil._ The junior stopped mid-track.

Legolas skipped over. Unlike him, Legolas's textbook was hanging loosely from his fingertips; Aragorn was rather surprised that the book had not yet dropped to the floor, but then again, Legolas was an Elf. "Hey," he greeted. "What's up?"

"Arts." Legolas made a face. "Can you believe it? One more hour until freedom, and it has to be a bloody_ Dwarf_ who teaches my last class…." He rolled his eyes. "Bombur. Ugh. He can barely stand up without six dwarves helping him, and he complains about the smallest things."

Aragorn sighed. The Elves and the Dwarves hated each other _so. _It was a rivalry he would never be able to comprehend; he could learn about it, analyze it, and write about it, but the antagonism was something only the people of the two races would ever understand. Men had no part in this.

"I have Drama next," he said in an attempt to cheer Legolas up. "What do you think?"

It worked. "Drama?" Legolas asked, blinking rapidly. "Círdan's class?"

Aragorn snorted. "Who else?"

Legolas frowned, a line forming between his fair brows. "What made you do it?"

"Huh?"

Legolas's frown deepened. "I meant you taking Drama."

Aragorn stared at him. _Rather stupidly, _he realized, shifting his weight onto the balls of his boots. But he really did have no idea what Legolas was talking about. "What's wrong with that?" he asked back, more sharply than he had intended. _Oops._

Legolas waved off Aragorn's mistake, the situation being too dire for him to bicker over something as petty as controlling human emotions. "Nobody sane takes Drama!" he cried theatrically. "Or sane _enough_, that is," he added after giving Aragorn one of his scrutinizing gazes.

"I want details, Greenleaf," said Aragorn, deadly serious.

Legolas took a deep breath. "You, Aragorn," he said, patting his friend's shoulder and rewarding him with a sympathetic glance, "Have just made the worst mistake of your life."

* * *

Aragorn's first thought was that he had somehow stepped into the wrong classroom.

The room was too big for the loose circle of students that now occupied half its seats. There were no Elves or Dwarves as far as he could see, and most of the students were Men; _freshmen or sophomores, _Aragorn thought, noting in his peripheral vision two girls who looked too young to be in middle school, much less in high school. The girls caught him staring and burst into high-pitched giggles, whispering into each other's ears and laughing the world down to damnation.

A bell rang dimly in his head as he remembered the conversation he and Legolas had had, a few minutes ago in the hallway:

_"Looks as if there weren't enough people who signed up for Drama in the senior and junior classes, so the teachers decided to mix the grades together…they needed more kids for the annual school play, or musical, or something," the Elf had said, holding up his hands helplessly. "But of course, you couldn't have known about that."_

Legolas had been right. Him? In a play? In front of hundreds of people? He might as well as have jumped off a cliff.

As if in a daze, Aragorn moved through the suddenly thick air and managed to reach an empty desk that was a safe distance away from the two giggling girls. He pulled down the hood of his cloak and waited for Lord Círdan, leaning back in his chair and forcing himself to relax his stiff shoulders. He was not surprised when a minute later, chairs scraped the marble floor as the students sitting near him rose from their seats, mumbled about being too far from the board and scurried off to find new, safer seats where there were no intimidating juniors sitting next to them. In thirty seconds all the desks around him were empty.

_But I like my cloak, _Aragorn sniffed, twisting a strand of his Ranger cloak around his finger.

He looked over the fact that there was still one person sitting near him. A slim, golden-haired girl with a pale complexion was poring over a book at the desk behind him. Her hand kept reaching up towards her face to brush back the long yellow locks that spilled over her forehead every time she tried to push them back. Aragorn watched in detached fascination as the girl, apparently quite frustrated by her hair, finally set down her book with a loud bang to run her fingers through the golden mane.

Their eyes met. Aragorn, most of his face still hidden by the hood of his cloak, gave her a nod, neither friendly nor openly hostile; she nodded back just as politely, bending down again to finish reading her book. Despite the briefness, Aragorn noted that there had been a steely glint in the strange girl's eyes.

_Like a morning of pale spring,_ he thought rather irrelevantly, gazing up at the ceiling. _Fair and cold._

* * *

Círdan had barely entered the classroom when there was a loud banging on the door, and everyone was startled into soundlessness. The Elf lord opened the door with a scowl to find a freshman standing before the entrance with his fist raised in an unfinished knock.

Círdan spoke quietly, but in the eerily silent classroom everyone could hear every word of the two's exchange:

"Yes?" asked the Elf in a ringing baritone, daring the student to come up with a good excuse for interrupting his class.

The boy gulped. "L-Lord Elrond sent me, sir," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in nervousness.

Aragorn saw Círdan thaw slightly at the mention of Elrond's name. _Altair teacher network_, he thought, and he could not suppress the small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth.

"H-he said he needed someone from his junior Health class, because he forgot to give him a handout the other day…?" the student finished uncertainly.

Aragorn dropped his quill from his hand. The pen fell to the floor with a clatter, and the absolute silence in the classroom was momentarily broken. Students started murmuring amongst themselves, wondering who Elrond had summoned.

He felt the strange girl's eyes boring holes into his back. _So she knew it was him._

"Did he not give you a name?" asked Círdan impatiently, though from the dark eyes that drifted to his direction, Aragorn knew Círdan knew who Elrond was looking for.

"Um," stammered the freshman. "I think it was somebody called Estel…?"

Excited murmurs broke out in the classroom. Aragorn felt the girl's eyes leave him to search for someone else in the room; _Estel _was an Elvish name, and obviously the person sitting in front of her was no Elf.

Aragorn rose from his seat, gracefully enough that the legs of the chair did not scrap the floor. "That would be me, sir," he said to Círdan.

The professor nodded. "Off you go, then," he told Aragorn solemnly as the junior headed out the door with his things in his arms. When Aragorn passed by Círdan, however, the tall Elf lord leaned down and whispered to him: "I'll invent an excuse for you, so worry not."

Outwardly, Aragorn nodded back, maintaining the cool face of a person completely at ease with the whole situation. Inwardly, he was shaking; if even Círdan was in on this, obviously something serious had happened.

He followed the freshman out into the hallway.

* * *

The moment the door shut behind the junior, the Drama class began yelling and shouting. "Why did Lord Elrond call him?" "How come he gets to skip class? No fair!" "His name is _Estel?_" the students cried, forgetting for a while who their teacher was.

In the middle of the ocean of chaos, the golden-haired girl who had sat behind the junior himself continued reading her book, oblivious to the cacophony save for the thin line her lips now formed. Éowyn rolled her eyes; even though the majority of the class's members were the same age as her, they could be just so childish sometimes. She hoped that Círdan would do something about them…soon.

Her wishes came true seconds later when the Elf lord rapped his wooden pointer on the chalkboard, not loudly but loud enough that those at the front of the classroom saw the irritation in Círdan's eyes and fell silent. The silence was contagious; little by little, the quiet began stretching across the class. In less than a minute, everyone had ceased talking.

"Now," said Círdan, his keen eyes sweeping over the students. "Continuing with the lesson…."

Éowyn smirked to herself in a most unladylike manner. She waited patiently until Círdan's back was turned to the class; then, making sure not to make any noise (she knew Elves had sensitive hearing), she slid the book she had been reading under her Drama textbook, and moved her arms so that her elbows covered the yellowing pages. _ME library 800260:_ _The Goblin Wars,_ the sticker on the cover read. _Historical-fiction. Not recommended for anyone under the age of sixteen, as it contains extreme blood and gore._

Éowyn smirked again. Who cared about age limits? She had snuck into the library and forged a membership card to borrow this book. Nothing was going to stop her reading now, not even the Ultra-Venomous Death Glare™ of an Elf professor.

She ignored Círdan's glowering look and kept on reading.

* * *

Aragorn closed the door to the classroom behind him, and turned to face the freshman. "You can stop pretending now," he told the boy. "It's only you and me here."

The boy stared at Aragorn, uncomprehending.

"_Mae govannen_," Aragorn suggested, speaking the Elvish phrase with a flawless accent.

The greeting seemed to be the magic words, as the nervous, knee-knocking freshman in front of him suddenly disappeared; in his place now stood a tall, dark, rugged Man, a junior judging from his appearance.

"Halbarad." Aragorn smiled. "Very ingenious."

"Aragorn," Halbarad greeted warmly. "You liked my disguise?"

"Well, sure."

"I read about it in one of our tracking brochures last week, and I wanted to test it out, see if it would work," explained Halbarad, clapping Aragorn's shoulder. "Apparently, it didn't...or not completely. Círdan saw right through me, I know. He gave me the evil eye."

"I wasn't fooled, either," Aragorn put in.

Halbarad grinned. "But everyone else was. Funny, considering that all I did was bend my knees, loose a few inches, and blubber. But anyway," he said, changing the subject. "Shouldn't you be thanking me for getting you out of class?"

Aragorn crossed his arms, a frown on his face. "You weren't lying about Lord Elrond calling me, were you?"

His fellow Ranger chuckled. "Of course not," he answered. "I wouldn't be alive and talking to you if I had, would I?"

Aragorn considered this. "No," he said at last.

They walked through the winding, empty hallways and down the stairs. The two juniors' footsteps echoed off the school walls, and Aragorn shivered despite himself; an empty school building could be highly intimidating, even when he very well knew that the school itself wasn't empty, just the hallways during class. In less than an hour the entire campus would be overflowing with life and activity.

He almost walked past Elrond's office.

"Steady," said Halbarad, gripping Aragorn's arm. "We're here."

Aragorn breathed. "Already?" he asked in a tiny voice, smaller than he had intended. He didn't know yet why exactly he was here, but he did know that whatever the reason for his "summons" was, it was something serious; and he had been through enough of _serious _to last him three lifetimes.

_This was going to be bad, wasn't it?_

Halbarad gave him a mock salute. "Good luck, captain." After a thoughtful pause, the Ranger added: "You'll need it, I think."

Aragorn took a deep breath. There was no going back now.

He raised his arm and rapped the door three times.

* * *

Frodo sneezed.

From the other side of the room, Pippin blinked. "Bless you, Frodo," he said, rummaging through his open trunk.

Frodo nodded. "Thanks, Pippin." He stretched his arms, yawning. "I needed that."

"Say," said the Took, "When do you think Gandalf will come and fetch us?"

Frodo lowered his head, pretending to be looking for something in his baggage. "No idea," he said at last, not wanting to lie to Pippin. "You know the elves advised us not to wait for him—"

"_Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger,_" said Pippin, shrugging. "They said they had no idea what'd happened to the old wizard. It was along those lines, wasn't it?"

"_Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes_," Frodo replied, remembering his conversation with Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod.

Some days ago, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin had met a group of High Elves who were traveling through the country, and had stayed for a day with them at their campsite.

The two Hobbits sat in silence for a while, unpacking and organizing their things.

"Here," said Pippin, tossing something at Frodo, who caught it reflexively.

"Looks like I had another pack of mushrooms from Mrs. Maggot in my pack," Pippin explained as Frodo stared down at the wrapped package in his hands. "We'll make a feast out of this, we will. Or should we wait for Merry and Sam…?" he asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

Frodo swallowed. Following his better judgment, he declared: "We'll wait for them—"

Pippin pouted disappointedly.

"—because as soon as they smell these cooking, they'll come up and eat their portions anyway," Frodo finished. "And they'll eat up our own portions, too."

"I think you're underestimating my digestion skills, Mr. _Underhill_," Pippin muttered.

Frodo rolled his eyes.

* * *

"You want me to go to Bree?"

Sitting inside Elrond's private office, Aragorn gave his foster father an incredulous look. It had not been the news about the exchange students that had surprised him (as Gandalf had already informed him about their coming), but the fact that _he_ would be the one to go all the way to Bree and bring the Hobbits to ME High. _Why not a teacher?_ Aragorn thought, shaking his head, not from denial but to clear his mind. _Why a student? Why me?_

"Yes," said the Elf lord, his cerulean robes sweeping the carpeted floor as he turned around and gave Aragorn a piercing stare. "Four students, from Shire High School."

Aragorn frowned, perplexed. "Only four?"

"There were four others from a girls' school who were to set out together with them," said Elrond, "But the dates were mixed up and the girls arrived somewhat earlier than planned."

"Well," sighed Aragorn, twisting the class ring on his finger, "Four would be better than eight in this case; it's quite far from here to Bree, and we'd all be traveling on on a limited budget—"

"Most certainly," Elrond said, nodding. The Elf lord raised one hand and rubbed a spot above his left eyebrow, a dark look entering his face. "Mithrandir was supposed to meet them in Bree…"

Aragorn let out a breath that he had not realized he had been holding. _Of course!_ Gandalf had called in sick for the last three days, and Aragorn had not seen him after the eventful first Chemistry class on Monday, when a bumbling junior had set the Istari's beard aflame. _Elbereth, he'd sure been mad about that…_

But why wasn't he back yet?

"He never crossed its borders," Elrond concluded. He pulled back his chair and sat down at the desk, leaning forward and resting his chin on his entwined fingers. "Something serious has happened, Aragorn."

Aragorn waited.

"Mithrandir has disappeared."

Unperturbed silence permeated the room. Aragorn blinked once, and then again.

"Excuse me?" he stuttered.

"It's true," Elrond said. "Even on foot, Bree is not quite far; it would have taken him twelve days to reach the town on foot, had he planned to travel at a leisurely pace. And as in 'leisurely pace' I mean like a stroll through a garden, Aragorn. Mithrandir set out at anything but a slow walk."

"But that's..." Aragorn sputtered. "That's preposterous! Why would Mithrandir disappear off the surface of the world in the first place?"

Elrond rubbed his temple. "That was precisely what I thought. Our Chemistry professor had promised me, after all, to contact me or Galadriel somehow when he reached Bree successfully. Mithrandir is not someone who would go back on his own word; which is why, I think, that his disappearance has something to do with this..."

From his robes, the elf extracted a scroll of familiar-looking, filthy parchment.

Instantly, Aragorn understood. "...the Nazgûl?" he said, slowly.

"You know of them, of course?"

"Yes," said Aragorn, fiddling again with his nonexistent ring. "They work for Mordor Enterprises, I suppose?"

"They do. I am only deductively reasoning on this, of course, but I fear for their involvement with Mithrandir's abrupt disappearance. You should remember that in the past our school has had several minor run-ins with that accursed company and their chairman, Sauron—"

"—I do—"

"—good. Recently they have remained aloof from our school's business and have kept to themselves more, but their stocks have risen at an incredible rate over the past few months, and Galadriel worries, as do I. Apparently there is a large amount of valuable resources located under the campus, and Mordor Enterprises is trying their best to incorporate Middle-Earth High School into their business. I still do not understand why they are so bent on blocking our exchange students from coming; it could be due to our school having been exclusive towards Men and Elves so far, and they could be aware of how having outsiders involved in this dispute would danger their chances of incorporating Middle-Earth High. But as I said," concluded Elrond, spreading his arms, "everything is still very vague."

"That," Aragorn said hesitantly, "cannot be good."

Elrond shook his head in response.

"And you want me to go to Bree because...?"

"As you know, Estel," said Elrond, "our vice principal is not a very trustworthy man."

"I suspected as much."

"And I have even more reason to believe that there is outside intelligence in our faculty who are reporting all teacher activities to Mister Sauron of Mordor. Sending a teacher to Bree is, therefore, out of the question. Which leaves us with one choice, that is, to send a student instead. A large group of absent juniors would only buy suspicion, and the seniors are already busy with their applications and exams.

"Our best choice is, I'm afraid, you, Aragorn."

* * *

He would leave at dawn the next morning. He would return by next Sunday night; or at least, he fervently hoped so. He was serious about studying and did not want to miss a day of school if it could be avoided, which was why he was now sitting cross-legged on the hallway outside Elrond's office, scribbling on a roll of parchment his five-page essay on the coming of the Valar and the shaping of the world.

_Messy,_ thought Aragorn, holding up his parchment and examining it. _But I've read essays that were far worse.  
_  
He tossed aside his Chemistry homework, not bothering to read the assignment.

A piece of paper rustled as Aragorn stood up, stretched his limbs, and yawned. He put a hand inside his cloak and took out something small, a fleck of snow on a dark field: A ripped page of notebook paper, folded in half, and again in quarters, folded again and again until its bulk had been reduced to a miniature white square that now rested in a dark-haired junior's palm. On it, the ink letters stained slightly from the three days' carrying it around, written in a careful, delicate hand:

_L__ó__rien. Friday. Seven o'clock._

Aragorn smiled to himself.

He wasn't going to keep Arwen waiting, was he?

* * *

**A/N:** Please review! Reviews and constructive criticism means a lot to me :D I'm just a beginner and I can use all the help I can get...so help me out by reviewing, please? ;) And I've also noticed that quite a lot of people *coughhackcough* have added WMEH to their favorites/alerts list, which, pray understand, I am immensely grateful of...but couldn't any of you spare a single minute to gimme a review? Whether it's to praise, criticize, or flame (er...scratch that last part out) I don't care. Just do something to tell me that people are actually reading this story! All reviews, alerts, and other actions are very much appreciated as always. In case anyone misunderstood.

**~Enchanted Authoress**


	5. Chapter 5: Goooooo, Nazgûl!

**_Last edited: September 27th, 2012_**

* * *

**A/N:** So sorry I kept you waiting! It's been how long since I last updated? *strangles herself* Just three things to say today:

1) A reviewer asked me why Elrond sent Aragorn to Bree instead of another teacher. I didn't say anything about it in the last chapter because it would have ruined the plot, so keep waiting…until the next chapter, anyway :)_  
_  
2) And lo! What about a female Elf for the home ec teacher? She'll probably be an OC. It's hard to find any female Elves in the LOTR books, so cut me some slack XD There seems to be plenty in _The Silmarillion_, though, but most of them are dead. *grumbles*

3) Oh, and I edited chapters one through four. It'll probably the final time I edit any previous chapters until I finish writing ME High. I have no idea how long this will be, but I'm betting AT LEAST twenty chapters. Urrghhh….

* This chapter was edited recently (8/2/12). The scene with Aragorn finding the Hobbits was pushed to the next chapter, and I added more of Saruman & Théoden here. Anybody who read this before it was edited should check this out again. *

* * *

**Anonymous reviews:**

anon: I _thought _it was you! XD Anyway, hi again :) I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter!

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I *sighs dramatically* do not own _The Lord of the Rings. _Daaaaaamnn...

* * *

**Welcome to Middle-earth High  
Chapter V: Goooooo, Nazgûl!**

* * *

Éowyn tightened her grip on the bathroom sink. It wasn't like her to be this nervous about anything, she knew, but this was a special circumstance. She tugged at her golden hair. She wished she could do something about it, maybe arrange it in a braid, but she didn't have the time. So instead she looked at herself in the mirror one final time, chewing down on her lip anxiously. _"Smile," _she told the pale blonde girl in the mirror.

She swallowed and stepped out of the girls' bathroom.

The last bell had rung two hours ago, but Middle-earth High was far from unoccupied. After-school activities were in full session now, and the teachers would still be in the staff lounge; and most of all, there was the gym.

The gym. Éowyn's mental self curled herself into a ball at the dreaded word, and yet she managed to walk briskly down the winding halls. She pushed the side doors open in a flourish and stalked across the grassy plains. She saw a cluster of freshmen girls huddled on the parking lot where Galadriel's golden Porsche-horse was waiting patiently for her master to take her home. The girls were whispering and giggling. Éowyn made a face. _They're probably gossiping about someone, _she thought, reentering the school by the front entrance (that way was quicker).

Éowyn was a resourceful girl, and she had successfully memorized the multiple passages in the school during her first two days there. And now she was putting that knowledge to use. She veered sharply to the left at the library and came to a pair of large oaken doors. The bronze doorknobs were polished to the extent that Éowyn could see her own face in them, wide-eyed and flushed. Someone had obviously cleaned them very recently. _Huh_, she thought, frowning bemusedly at her twin reflections.

Éowyn shook her head. The mystery of the polished doorknobs could be solved later. Now was the time for something else.

She took a deep breath and flung open the doors.

* * *

Faramir hovered anxiously outside the gym. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and the three books he had wanted to check out from the library were tucked securely under his arm. He was ready to go home.

But he wouldn't. Not yet. Faramir pressed his ear against the gym doors in an attempt to listen to what was happening inside, but he couldn't hear a thing. He bit down on his lower lip and took off his glasses. He was halfway through cleaning them before he remembered that he had polished his spectacles a few short minutes ago. Faramir sighed. He was becoming paranoid.

He straightened his glasses. He noticed the bronze doorknobs in front of him, their beauty marred by the many hands that had grasped them. He took the cloth he cleaned his glasses with and began to scrub the doorknobs free of fingerprints. Faramir had barely finished his task when footsteps sounded on the marble floor; he dove sideways behind a water barrel, one of the school's many fire extinguishers, to avoid being seen. He held his breath as he watched a blonde girl walk by, waited as she entered the gym, and ran for it. His face burned as he hurried away from the scene of crime. The girl had stared at the glowing doorknobs.

Faramir took refuge in front of the library. He sighed and slumped onto the floor. He would wait for Boromir's audition to end like the perfect younger brother he was supposed to be, and walk home with him. It would be no big deal...

…_Right?_

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Boromir looked up at the note of disbelief in Éomer's voice. He snuck glances at the other students inside the gymnasium, and observed that all of them were staring at a lone dark figure standing in the doorway. He turned, expecting big trouble, and found himself looking at…a girl.

"What are you doing here?" Éomer repeated, dropping the basketball he had been holding. The ball bounced once on the ground, bounced again, and rolled away towards the bleachers. Boromir kicked it to speed it on its way.

The girl stepped away from the doorway. She walked forward. "In case you didn't know, I go to school here," she replied coolly.

"I know that," Éomer said impatiently. "I mean, what are you doing"—he flailed his arms—"_here_?"

The girl—_Éowyn, _thought Boromir, finally recognizing her—raised an eyebrow. "To try out for the basketball team, maybe?" she suggested.

Éomer seethed. He marched forward, pushing a goggling freshman out of the way. He now stood face-to-face with his sister.

Boromir flinched. He wondered how Éowyn managed to stand her ground despite Éomer's rage; if _he_ had been targeted with such an expression, he would have immediately fled in the opposite direction.

"You are _not _going to try out for the basketball team," Éomer said in a low voice. He apparently did not want any of the others to listen to his and his sister's conversation, but it was an impossible feat in the suddenly silent gymnasium. All the students had their necks and ears craned, trying to catch every exchanged word.

Éowyn raised her chin defiantly. Nevertheless, there was a faint quiver in her voice when she retorted: "I would, too. What's to stop me from trying?"

Éomer opened his mouth, but Éowyn rushed on. "I've wanted to try out for the basketball team since I was old enough to walk! And you know I'm good, too; I can play better than half the guys here!"

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a guess. It was a statement: _I can play better than half the guys here…. _Boromir wondered for a moment if he was included in the half.

Éomer clenched his fist. "Éowyn," he said in a steely, calm voice that Boromir immediately distrusted, "leave. Now."

The others watched the two siblings apprehensively. They were waiting for Éomer or Éowyn to blow, Boromir knew; he stepped forward, ready to intervene if any violence occurred.

But nothing happened. The perfect silence in the gym continued for one minute, two minutes. And then suddenly, without warning, Éowyn snatched a basketball from the freshman her brother had knocked down earlier, dribbled it expertly, and lobbed it. The ball slammed against the backboard and _swish,_ dropped into the net.

Boromir gaped. So did the other boys in the gymnasium. A clear, beautiful three-point shot, and a freshman girl had made it seem like it was no big deal. They all turned to ask her how she had done it, but stopped mid-question.

Éowyn was gone. One of the gym doors creaked closed in the afternoon light, and from some distance away came the patter of running feet. Éomer stood rooted to the ground, his eyes fixed on some faraway place no one else could see. His usually tanned face was blanched. _He looks sick_, Boromir thought.

Somebody cleared his throat.

It was Amrothros, Lothíriel's older brother and the third eldest of Professor Imrahil's four children. Amrothros had been the captain of the basketball team last season, but he had resigned this year to concentrate on his studies (and to escape responsibility for the myriad defeats the team received last year, people whispered behind his back). And now he had returned temporarily to act as the examiner for the basketball audition.

"Hello, men," he said cheerfully. "Are we ready to play some ball?"

* * *

Éowyn took flight from the gymnasium, trying to stop the tears that blurred her sight. She wiped them off angrily. Crying could come later. Now, however, she had to locate the late carriage that would take her home. She couldn't bear to stay in this place for another two minutes.

She stopped outside the school library. There were some Elves inside who were immersed in serious conversation. _The debate club, probably_, Éowyn thought, leaning against the cool wall. _They_ wouldn't notice _her_.

She was about to move on when out of nowhere, a hand thrust a handkerchief at her. "Here," mumbled someone. "Take it."

Éowyn sniffed. "Thanks," she said, still proud, but accepting the cloth. She observed the pattern on the handkerchief while she dabbed at her eyes with it. It was white and blue, with elegant swans stitched on one side, and a white tree on the other. _It's beautiful_, she thought despite herself.

"Nice hanky," she commented. She returned the cloth to its owner, a bespectacled freshman with intelligent dark eyes.

The other freshman smiled weakly. "Thanks," he replied, tucking the handkerchief into his book bag. "It used to be my mother's."

Éowyn narrowed her eyes. What did he mean, it _used _to be his mother's? Was he implying that his mother was dead, like hers was? She thought it wise not to pry, though, and so steered the conversation in another direction. "What's your name?" she asked. "I've never seen you around here before."

The boy shuffled his feet. "Uh," he said, crimsoning. "It's Faramir of Gondor. _I've _seen _you _a lot of times, though. In the hallways," he added hastily.

Éowyn nodded. "Oh," she said. "I'm Éowyn. Of Rohan."

"Éowyn," Faramir repeated, "of Rohan. Got that."

They stood quietly. Éowyn was beginning to get embarrassed. She had not wanted anyone to witness her cry, especially not a boy she had never even seen before. The only consolation the whole affair gave her was that she could perceive that the boy, Faramir, was as equally embarrassed as her. _Ugh, I get it,_ thought Éowyn, brushing back her hair from her forehead. _He didn't want to see me cry, either. He was trying to walk around me and I was blocking his way, so he was being friendly, probably._

At that moment, a loud honk sounded outside. Éowyn and Faramir both turned to find the late carriage parked in front of the school. The driver was waving his hand impatiently. The horses pulling the carriage neighed and pawed the ground.

"I have to go," Éowyn said quickly. "Homework to do, you know, have to write an essay for Círdan's class…."

Faramir's eyes gleamed with interest. "You take Drama?"

"Er, I do. Dead boring, really." She looked back over her shoulder at the impatient driver. "Gotta go!"

With that, she was free. Éowyn exited the building and climbed aboard the carriage, where a sweaty sophomore holding a lacrosse stick extended a hand to help her up. She saw Faramir standing in the distance. He was watching her with an impenetrable expression. She squinted at him. But the next second the carriage was rounding the bumpy dirt road, and she lost sight of the strange boy.

_Well, _Éowyn thought, burying her head in her arms, _at least no one else knows that I got kicked off the basketball team before I was even on it._

* * *

Boromir had passed the test. He was now an official member of the ME basketball team, along with four other boys. He passed the ball to Éomer; he had discovered Éomer a nice, amiable boy (once recovering from the over protectiveness he displayed towards his sister), and they got along surprisingly well. The Rohan boy still seemed disturbed, though, as he dribbled the ball and bounced it back towards Boromir.

Somebody blew the whistle.

Boromir caught his ball. There were two men standing in the doorway of the gym, almost in the exact spot where Éowyn had stood some minutes ago. But both the newcomers were older, taller, and grimmer than the freshman girl who had been there previously. Boromir exchanged a surprised look with Éomer. They drifted towards the men. One of them was Théoden, whom they were not surprised to see (he was the P.E. teacher, after all). But they could not help but gasp when they saw the second person's face. It was Saruman, the vice principal.

Boromir stared. Last year, when he had played on the basketball team, Saruman had never once come to a basketball match, nor had he expressed any interest in the sport. He cocked his head, confused. What was he doing here, then?

"Professors," puffed Amrothros, jogging towards them with the rest of the team at his tail. He had blown the whistle when he had spotted the two teachers at the entrance of the gym. "Pardon my insolence, sir," he said, goggling at Saruman. "But…er…what are you doing here?"

Saruman smiled, and the grimness left his face. "To watch my students play, of course," he said softly. "I do hope that we can have a better season than last year's, though." He winced delicately. "We were steamrollered in that match against Kirk High; I couldn't look Spock in the face for ages."

Amrothros suddenly became very fascinated in the toes of his boots.

Saruman laughed. His white robes shimmered in the afternoon light. "I meant no offence," he chuckled. "Of course I'm very confident about the team. I'm sure you'll all do very well," he added, patting a bewildered freshman on the back. "Won't you, boys?"

They nodded vigorously.

Saruman laughed again. Boromir saw that his robes, which had appeared white at first, were in fact composed of many different fabrics, woven tightly into one material. Boromir frowned.

Someone cleared his throat. It was Théoden; he had been standing there so quietly that for a minute, everyone had forgotten he was there. "Amrothros," he said, addressing the former captain. "I'll leave the organizing to you, until we find a suitable captain for the team." He nodded at the five boys and at the reserves. "And now, I think we'll leave you alone; that way of practicing is much more efficient, I know—"

"Oh, not just yet, Théoden," Saruman cut in. He turned to the boys again, smiling benevolently. "I have one more announcement to make, and then we can go."

Théoden didn't seem too happy about this, but he consented to the other teacher's words with a curt nod.

"There has been a slight crippling in the school spirit," Saruman continued. His speech flowed without breaking or pausing, mellifluous, and Boromir found himself listening attentively to every word, enthralled by the beautiful voice of the vice principal.

"And so I have decided to change the school mascot."

There was a loud gasp. Boromir turned, and saw that Amrothros had spoken. "But, sir," he protested. "The Seagull's been the mascot for forever. It's a breaking of the school tradition!"

Saruman's eyes glinted dangerously. "Did I," he hissed, "_ask _you for your opinion?"

Amrothros shook his head, albeit reluctantly.

"Then," Saruman went on, colder than before. A light flickered in his eyes. "I do not see what the problem is."

Théoden held up a hand to stop Amrothros from rebutting. "But, Saruman," he said quietly, "what will we do if the mascot is changed so abruptly? The school board will have to spring for new uniforms for the sports teams, and the principal is nowhere to be seen—"

Saruman smiled. He clapped Théoden on the shoulder, laughing heartily. "Ah, my dear Théoden," he said, in the same melodious voice he had used earlier. "Of _course _I have thought about all that. Many an hour I have sat at my desk, pondering over those very matters. And I at last reached a conclusion!" He smiled again. "We won't _have _to buy any new uniforms! We won't even have to dye them, either; the students may wear them as they are!"

"But—"

Saruman waved his arm dismissively. "Oh, come on, come on," he said. "Surely you know, Théoden? The school colors don't necessarily have to match the school mascot! Although," he added graciously, for Théoden's benefit, "I would have favored it to be otherwise myself, in any other situation. But I am afraid that in this case, the procedure is quite necessary."

Boromir nodded eagerly.

There was a pause. "Then," Théoden spoke slowly, "what will be the new mascot? You can tell us that much."

Saruman spread his arms. "I hoped you would ask that question," he said. "The new mascot will be…."

Everyone held their breath.

"The Nazgûl."

* * *

_The Nazgûl?_

Éomer blinked. He exchanged a mystified look with Boromir. Judging from the expression on Boromir's face, he was as baffled as Éomer was. _So he hadn't misheard Saruman after all…._

Of the boys assembled in the gymnasium, Amrothros was the first to speak. He raised a hand timidly, as if he was still sitting in sixth-period Literature and this was just another question the vice principal had thrown at them to answer.

Saruman turned to the junior with a graceful sweep of his robes. "Yes?" he said.

"Sir," Amrothros asked, "did…did you say that the _Nazgûl _would be our mascot from now on?"

Saruman inclined his head. "Indeed I did," he replied. He raised his eyebrows, as though surprised that Amrothros had asked the question at all. "I thought I was being clear with my statement."

"But, sir," another boy piped in. It was Elfhelm, Éomer's friend from Rohan. "Aren't the Nazgûl supposed to be…dangerous?"

The others murmured their agreement.

The Nazgûl, or the Black Riders as some called them, were a group of nine horsemen who haunted the lonely roads, bringing terror to all those who glimpsed even their shadows. The rumors said that they had been hired by Mordor Enterprises to scare the tax collectors away from the company. Éomer had never seen them himself, but he and the rest of the school knew how terrifying they were.

_Why would _anyone _want to make them the mascot of their school_? Éomer thought, scratching his head.

Saruman sighed. He sounded like he was losing his patience, exasperated by the idiot questions of the idiot students he taught. Éomer shuffled his feet self-consciously.

"The Nazgûl may seem dangerous to some of you," Saruman explained kindly. "But dangerousness is a desirable quality in all school mascots; the purpose of mascots is to intimidate and impress." He smiled at them, the perfect grandfather figure.

Éomer found himself nodding along to Saruman's every word. The vice principal had been proposing the right thing all along, after all. He relaxed. Now that all his confusion about the mascots issue was solved, he felt contended, happy even. They should have listened to Professor Saruman earlier on. He was just so wise, so sagacious that—

"And so," Saruman concluded, interrupting Éomer's thoughts. "Without further ado, I declare the Nazgûl as Middle-earth High School's mascot."

Everyone cheered.

Saruman raised a hand to his mouth. For a fleeting moment, Éomer thought that he saw the vice principal's lips twitch menacingly behind his ringed fingers.

And then the moment was gone, and Saruman was laughing jovially along with everyone else as if nothing had happened.

* * *

"I'm home!" Éowyn declared, setting down her textbooks on the kitchen countertop with a bang.

A minute later, her brother emerged from his room. Éomer crossed his arms and frowned disapprovingly. He was still in his basketball uniform. "Took you long enough," he said. "I thought you set out for home earlier than I did."

"Yeah," Éowyn said brightly. "Was a little delayed on the way, though, that's why I arrived _now_."

Éomer raised an eyebrow.

In answer to Éomer's unasked question, Éowyn whipped out a piece of parchment from her book bag. She waved it in her brother's face.

"Guess what I did," she trilled, "guess what I did!"

Éomer leaned forward to read the parchment. There was a loud popping noise as his jaw dropped to the floor.

"I just got signed," Éowyn sang, "to the Middle-earth cheerleading squad!"

* * *

**A/N:**As always, please review! Constructive criticism is always welcome ;)

Oh, and also, it would be cool if any of you could check out my other story, _LOTR Mail Service_. I promise that LMS won't be a disappointment... a *cough* tremendously HUGE disappointment, that is.

And I've been recently introduced to a new fandom! Thanks to fritillary252 for getting me started on One Piece. And Detective Conan. And Fullmetal Alchemist. And...oh never mind.

**~Enchanted Authoress**


	6. Chapter 6: There And Back Again

**A/N: **I'm so sorry, I really took my time with this one, didn't I? My excuses are that high school life fianlly caught up to me, I skipped fandoms, I was getting ready for boarding school and my little brother ate my homework. Oh, wait a minute, I don't have a little brother...now I'm just fabricating excuses.

I changed the genre of WMEH from drama 'n' friendship to romance 'n' friendship. And all of my previous chapters have gone through MAJOR edits. If you have the time to, please check it out ;) Aaaaaand I wanted to say that I won't be adding the "allegiances" corner from now on, because I don't want to pressure readers into memorizing the entire schedule or anything. But if any of you object to this, leave a review and let me know and I'll go by the majority's opinion. Also, my ANs will be much shorter from now on. Don't want to unnecessarily take up the word count...um, too late...:P

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_.

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**Welcome to Middle-earth High  
Chapter VI: The Council of Elrond**

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Arwen sat in the cool shade of the old maple tree, occupied with the book report she was to turn in on Monday. Her mind wandered elsewhere as her hands worked with quill and parchment, however. She absentmindedly scratched her chin with her quill pen, humming to herself. The weather was just too perfect for her to be doing anything as remotely boring as homework. The sky was too clear, the breeze too gentle, the fragrance of autumn flowers too intoxicating. Oh, why had Professor Saruman assigned her class a three-foot-long book report, when he obviously knew everyone would leave it undone untill the last minute?

Arwen finally succumbed to the sweet temptation of the Friday afternoon and lied down on the grass, resting one hand behind her head while the other twiddled idly with scraps of parchment. Her delicate handwriting covered approximately two thirds of the required length of her unfinished book report. _Oh, bother,_ she thought, shielding her eyes from the guilty sight of homework being left undone. _I can work on it later on in the evening. There's plenty of time for that._

She was in the yard of her house in Rivendell. All around her she could discern signs of students celebrating the beginning of another wonderful weekend, which her home was currently devoid of. Elladan and Elrohir had left a few minutes ago for the mall with a few of their friends. _Lucky them_, Arwen thought, watching a cloud drift over the clear sky. _How come I'm not allowed to go with them? _

_Oh, but you already know the answer to that question, Arwen dear, _an inner voice muttered broodingly.

The dark-haired elleth flinched. Yes, she knew the answer to her question. She knew why she was staying cramped up in her own home on a Friday afternoon finishing a book report that none of her fellow students were paying any attention to at the moment. But still, it was not as if she couldn't go out and have fun every once in a while, was it?

Having made up her mind, Arwen stood up resolutely from her spot on the grass.

Before freezing in shock, that is.

For there, at the very edge of the garden...was that...what could it be? Arwen craned her neck, trying her best to see past the tall hedges that encompassed the backyard of her home. She had definitely noticed some sort of movement in the fringe of her peripheral vision. _Maybe I'm hallucinating?_

As it turned out, no, Arwen was not hallucinating, or was she encumbered by any kind of abnormal mental condition; for a heartbeat later, a small dark something tumbled out from under the begonia bushes Elrond so prided himself in, and the startled elleth approached the "something" cautiously, curiousity dominating the best of her as she knelt down to peer at the untimely intruder.

She found two large, frightened eyes staring straight back at her.

Arwen emitted an involuntary gasp and teetered backwards, albeit gracefully. _What in Mordor was a hobbit doing inside her house's garden? _She took a deep, calming breath before leaning down again to steady aforementioned hobbit, who was in the danger of collapsing on the ground. "Are you hurt?" she inquired, observing from the rugged state of her "intruder" that he apparently had not consumed a decent meal in days.

_Why had he stumbled in on _her_ house of all places, though? _

Her unasked question was answered a minute later when someone else crawled out from under the begonia bushes. As Arwen stifled another gasp, she pivoted on her heels, still steadying the hobbit against her, her eyes raking the grass as she lifted her gaze to newcomer's face, she _tried _not to think of the devastating state the begonias were in, or of the mental breakdown her father would suffer when he returned home to find his first-prize neighborhood flower g—

Her inner ramblings halted.

For there, standing right in front of her, dusting off his battered cloak, was a person she had been attempting her best to erase from her memory these past weeks, after searching every nook and cranny in the neighborhood when he had mysteriously disappeared off the face of the earth _just like that_, without any explanations or even a hastily scribbled note left behind in locked boxes. Arwen blinked once, and twice, before fully comprehending that no, the young man now face-to-face with her was definitely _not _an illusion, or a mirage from her memories. He was here, and he was here for good.

"Good afternoon, Arwen," said Aragorn. He gave her a confident yet tired smile, the dark bags under his eyes thinning as his mouth curved up into a half-grimace, half-grin while he unloaded three _more_ hobbits from his back, who all tumbled to the grass in a most ungraceful manner. "Now, if you don't mind, could I please have something to eat? I'm starving."

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Frodo awoke to the sound of raised voices. _Way to go_, he thought grumpily as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and wondering where the heck he was. Normally he wasn't one to complain about his surroundings, no matter how dire they were, especially not when he was sitting on a downy, soft bed, the sheets so white that he was momentarily blinded by their simple cleanness. He could not help but ogle the immaculate state of the bed he rested in; after all, it had been a while since he had last slept anywhere this clean.

The hobbit flinched. Thinking about cleanness incited bad memories, so he turned instead to the yelling which had piqued his interest just moments before. The shouting was reverberating against the thick walls of the room, so he clambered down from the high bed and waddled to the doorway, ignoring the fact that his feet were hardly responding due to their lack of use. How long had he been asleep, anyway? Hours? Days? He could ascertain from the slivers of light that permeated the open windows that the time was early in the morning, Frodo tried to prod awake his toes as he traversed across the expansion of smooth wood that covered the room's wide floor._ Really, this place was too big for him..._

He pressed an ear against the oak door. From what he could garner, there was currently two people involved in a shouting match, one female, the other male. The female—an elleth—was doing most of the talking, while the male stood silently, staring down at the toes of his boots. It was Aragorn, Frodo realized with a jolt.

_"—TWO WEEKS, NO CLUE WHERE YOU'D GONE, NOT EVEN A SINGLE WORD—"_

"I'm sorry." Aragorn hung his head.

The girl frowned disapprovingly and crossed her arms, her very aura exuding murder despite her calm countenance. Looking at her face, a vague memory shifted in Frodo's head; if he remembered correctly, the girl had steadied him just before he had been rendered unconscious, bare minutes after being unceremoniously pushed through a flower bush by Aragorn and Merry. Curious, Frodo quietly observed the elleth. She had long dark silky hair, creamy skin, and perfect features; Frodo felt his jaw drop to the floor and barely resisted the urge to rub his eyes. He had heard his fair share of Elf-lore from Bilbo, but this Elf was simply extraordinary. She truly had to be a goddess of some variety.

Said elleth sighed. "Do you have any idea how worried everyone was?" she murmured, lowering her voice into a deadly whisper. Aragorn cringed. "Legolas and Halbarad and I were worried sick, the Nazgûl could have abducted you for all we knew-"

Aragorn coughed. "Why would they want to abduct me in the first place?" he queried innocently. "I'm just a no-good junior."

A dangerous light scintillated in Arwen's grey eyes. "Do shut up, Aragorn."

"Shutting."

Frodo decided that this was the cue for him to step up and speak. He inched his way out from behind the door, clearing his throat. "Um." He stammered when both Aragorn's and Arwen's attention pivoted to him. "Er...I'm awake."

Aragorn's tired face broke into a relieved smile. "Good morning, Frodo," he called, waving the hobbit forward, "I can't express how grateful I am to see that you're up and running."

"Walking, maybe, but not running, no," Frodo muttered, his numb feet still recuperating from his prolonged slumber. "What day is it today, anyway?"

"Sunday," Arwen intoned quietly. Now that she had stopped yelling, Frodo was able to finally appreciate just how beautiful her voice was as well, like clear water flowing over an undisturbed spring...whoa. "You slept for over twenty-four hours. Ada and I took turns watching over you."

Frodo blinked. "Sunday morning?" he asked, hobbling around to gawp at Aragorn, who confirmed his suspicions with a slight nod. "But that's...a lot of sleep," he finished lamely.

Arwen sighed. "Indeed," she agreed, "you must have been through a lot to sleep like that. Which reminds me," she said, glaring again at Aragorn, who squirmed uncomfortably under her intense gaze, "I'd like to know what exactly happened on the road from Bree to here. Your friends have refused to tell me anything, Mister Frodo, and this has become quite infuriating." The elleth crossed her arms.

"Er," Frodo began. He cast a furtive glance at Aragorn, which elicited a frantic shake of the head from the Ranger. "We're kind of sworn to secrecy. Er, that is, I can't really tell you anything, as much as I'd like to..." He trailed off and shuffled his hairy feet. Oh, dear, now he had gone and said to much.

Arwen opened her mouth, most likely to elaborate on her question, but before she could say anything, someone gave a tiny, dry cough.

The trio whirled around to discover a raven-haired elf who had entered the hall. Magnificent azure robes swept the floor as the tall figure paused to stand beside Arwen, smiling genially as he looked upon the three students. "Ah," he said, "Mr. Baggins has awoken at last."

"Ada," said Arwen. She had inadvertently switched her speech from Westron to Sindarin, which Frodo could understand enough for comprehension, "you said you would not be home until noon at the least..."

_Who? _Frodo mouthed at Aragorn, who was watching the exchange silently.

_Lord Elrond, _Aragorn mouthed back.

Frodo blinked once, and then twice. Of course he knew who Lord Elrond was; Bilbo had informed him all about the Elf lord, whom the wizened hobbit had acquainted during his brief internship at Thorin Oakenshield's banking comany. And Aragorn had also elaborated much on the subject of Lord Elrond while they had been traveling from Bree to Rivendell; from the pieces of interspersed gossip he had gathered, Elrond had three children, all of whom were attending Middle-earth High School at the moment, and he had done a remarkable job raising three teenage elves even not accounting for the lacking influence of a maternal figure; apparently, Lady Celebrian was away in a foreign land where she was in rehabilitation for a rare illness.

"Erestor told me he could handle overdue library books on his own," said Elrond with a smile. "Which reminds me...where are Elladan and Elrohir? Our dear librarian would like to know very much why they did not turn in their books on time."

"They went to the mall again," Arwen supplied. "Something about the local tracking competition and equipments."

"Ah..." Elrond nodded in acknowledgement. "They would be home in time for the barbeque, then. Very well..."

With that, he focused his gaze on Frodo, who straightened up. He had finally recovered the senses of his feet. "Mr. Frodo," he said, "Mithrandir is outside at the moment, and I am afraid he will not return to check on you in less than two hours."

"Wait...Gandalf is here?"

Elrond nodded again. "Yes. He arrived a few hours prior to your own arrival."

"But then..."

Frodo's head was spinning, the bridges of his mind threatening to collapse from an army of unasked and unanswered questions. He staggered slightly; Aragorn grabbed his arm and gently made him lean against the wall. "Excuse me," said Frodo, blanching. "I don't feel too well at the moment."

"Of course not." Elrond peered at the hobbit solemnly. "You were on the road with no adult supervision for two weeks, Mr. Frodo. It's a wonder you're not asleep even at this moment; you could do with several more hours of uninterrupted sleep."

Frodo felt his eyelids droop. "Don't think I can argue with that one..." He yawned. "Excuse me."

Elrond rested a cool hand against the hobbit's forehead. "Sleep," he ordered firmly.

And all went dark.

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The next time Frodo awoke, it was evening. The sky was a bizarre assortment of colors, red integrating with clearest blue; Frodo blinked the spots out of his eyes and clutched his head. His head swam from half-dissolved dreams and images, and he felt strangely lightheaded, giddy even, and could not decipher the by-now familiar yet unwelcome sensation of hunger gnawing at the bowels of his stomach. _But first things first..._  
**  
**"Where am I, and what is the time?" he wondered.

"For your information, it is the 26th of September, the time being five o'clock in the evening, and you are currently lying in one of Elrond's guest bedrooms in Rivendell," a voice announced.

Frodo bolted upright in bed. "Gandalf!" he cried, flinging off his quilts. The next moment, however, he found himself being supported by a robed arm; for a minute he had forgotten the unfortunate predicament of his poor, abused body and had jumped to the floor in his ecstasy. He stared up at his rescuer; yes, there was the old grey wizard, steering the young hobbit back towards the bed and chuckling all the while.

"You're here," Frodo stated bemusedly.

The wizard laughed. "Indeed, I am here," he said. Having settled Frodo back onto the safety of his bed, Gandalf sat down back in his chair by the window, extracting a worn pipe from the sleeve of his robe. "Ah," said the wizened wizard, frowning at his pipe.

"Go on, you can smoke in here, Gandalf," Frodo encouraged. Not that the wizard needed his permission anyway.

Gandalf's frown deepened. "No," he said sternly. "I should not." And to Frodo's immense surprise, the wizard picked up his pipe and—without blowing a single white smoke-ring through the object—discarded it back into the folds of his grey robes.

Frodo stared, utterly flabbergasted. "You...gave up smoking?" he managed at last, not daring to believe his eyes. For Gandalf was famous in the Shire for his magnificent smoke-rings; and from what Frodo had gleaned of the old wizard from Bilbo, Gandalf had been smoking for a minimum of a few dozen years, and most probably long before that. For Gandalf to quit cold turkey, some major incident must have happened in the recent past.

Said wizard ignored Frodo's gaping mouth. "Now, do regale me with the tales of your journey, young hobbit," he said instead, puffing nonchalantly on an imaginary pipe.

"But I—"

"Frodo," Gandalf said, "I understand that you are curious about my own travels, but for now your tale is of more magnitude. I have already revealed everything about my adventures to Elrond, so do inform me of yours."

"Er...all right."

And so the hobbit inhaled deeply, and began his storytelling at last.

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"You _what_?"

"It's true, I tell you, for the umpteenth time, Elrohir—"

"I believe it," declared the raven-haired elf, cutting off Aragorn's protests mid-sentence. "But having your wallet stolen still doesn't explain how you and your gang of vagabonds had to hitchike all the way from Bree to here. Hitchhiking is supposed to be free, you know."

Aragorn frowned and kicked at a random stone on the ground. The Peredhil twins had arrived home right after Gandalf had returned home, and had insisted on him narrating every insignificant detail of his journey, inundating every word. "Do I have to say it?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Oh, fine," Aragorn surrendered, spreading his arms in a neutralizing manner.

"It was a mostly favorable trip from here to Bree. It should have taken me about twelve days to get there with fair weather and good fortune, and another two weeks to return with my guests in tow. But I knew that time was short, so I had to hitchhike on unsuspecting carriages and coaches. In the end I was able to shorten those twelve days to three days. A highly efficient traveling method, I would call it."

Elladan frowned. "Then you should have arrived in Rivendell at least a few days ago. What took you so long?"

"It's not nice to interrupt, brother dear," Elrohir chided.

Elladan sighed. "Right."

"So," Aragorn continued carefully, "we met successfully in Bree. The hobbits were fresh out of money, and I was running low as well. I told them that we would have to hitchhike most of the way back, and they agreed. So we planned on waiting out the night and leaving as early as possible in the morning, because I was tired, they were tired, and we were all tired. So we waited.

"Until _they _came."

"The Nazgûl," Elrohir suggested.

"Right. Don't ask me what they were doing there, why they were there in the first place, but they were knocking on the doors of the Prancing Pony at half past three in the morning. I'll admit it, it was...scary. So I woke everyone up and we ran for it, only managing to remember our luggage in time.

"The first thing in the morning we did was to try to hail a ride. Except that we couldn't; they were patrolling all the roads. So we had to walk most of the way here. I made calculations as we traveled, and I knew time was short, so at the end I persuaded the hobbits to journey quickly; not only that, but we were also out of fresh food.

"I guess I should thank Glorfindel for finding us at the outskirts of Rivendell. Without him, we probably would've given up right then and there. I couldn't have talked them into getting up again had they all collapsed one more time; I probably would've lied down on the ground right besides them.

"But we made it here in the end... and that's that."

A silence permeated the cooling air around the three students, who sat immobile for some minutes, just sitting there and each contemplating differently the story they had just heard.

Elladan was the first to broach the silence. "Thanks, though. For telling us," he said. "The whole thing must have been exhausting. Go indoors now and rest. You look dead on your feet."

_Huh_, thought Aragorn, a blush creeping into his cheeks. Although he knew that Elrond and everyone who knew about the true reason behind his week-long absence in school appreciated his actions, it still made him feel better to hear someone actually verbalize that gratitude. He peered down at the toes of his newly scrubbed boots and sighed. "Yeah, I guess I will," he muttered, not quite meeting the twins' eyes.

"Good boy," said Elrohir, thumping his shoulder enthusiastically.

"Huh." Aragorn grinned.

"Well, let's step inside, then," said Elladan cheerfully. "You should stay here for today; I'm sure Legolas and Thranduil won't be missing you all that much. Oh, and Aragorn?"

"Yeah?"

"You do know that it's Monday tomorrow, yes? And that Gandalf wants his Chemistry essay done by Tuesday at the latest, with a grade deduction of ten percent daily if you turn it in late?"

"...excuse me?"

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**A/N:** Did anybody catch the quote from _The Fellowship of the Ring _(the book)? Hint: Frodo said it.

According to the timeline, Arwen and Aragorn meet at Lórien YEARS before Aragorn meets Frodo, but for the story's sake I've shortened it to a few days. And the books state that Frodo left Bree on September 30th to arrive in Rivendell at October 20th. But I've shortened that as well because I couldn't afford Aragorn missing out a whole month of school :P As for the two days it takes Aragorn to reach Bree, I changed it from the twelve days it took him in the original book, as Aragorn says so himself in "A Knife in the Dark": _But I know how long it would take me on my own feet, with fair weather and no ill fortune: twelve days from here to the Ford of Bruinen, where the Road crosses the Loudwater that runs out of Rivendell._

With all due respect to Mr. Tolkien, there's not much said about Arwen, so I had to beef up her character a bit. C'mon, ANYONE would be frightened if your (sort of) boyfriend who has been missing for weeks after a romantic conversation with you turns up at your house when NO ONE ELSE IS HOME with four complete strangers in tow, looking like he'd been through hell in the last few days, and the first thing he does is ask for food? Lol.

As always, please review! I like to know if there's anything wrong I'm doing in my writing, and do tell me which parts of this chapter you like, or don't. Comments and feedback are always welcome, as is criticism.

**~Enchanted Authoress**


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